


The Winds of Castellum

by Sineala



Category: Frontier Wolf - Rosemary Sutcliff
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Community: trope_bingo, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 01:04:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In spring, the fort of Castellum is blanketed by a pollen that causes desire among those who breathe it in. This includes Alexios and Hilarion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Winds of Castellum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [melannen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melannen/gifts).



> Sex pollen! I am counting this for Kink Bingo and Trope Bingo, and I should probably say that Melannen wrote the plot and very kindly let me write the story; Carmarthen provided some helpful beta comments, and Luzula gave me plant information. All remaining errors are mine.

The last of the snow had melted not too long ago, with the coltsfoot starting to flower on the slopes, and the air was beginning to warm with the newness of spring when Cunorix came to Castellum for the first time since the harsh winter had begun. Seeing the proud figure step through the gates and into the fort itself, Alexios was seized by a great excitement, quivering in the pit of his stomach, an excitement that was tempered by bewilderment: surely it was too early in the season for the promised wolf-hunt. Why, then, had his friend come?

There was only one way to learn that, and so Alexios stepped out of the Sacellum, practically running across the slick stones.

"Cunorix!" he said, embracing him. "How have you fared? How was winter?"

"Well enough," said the other man, "well enough. Less food than one would like, but is that not always the way of it?" His wide mouth lifted, with the shadow of a smile.

Perhaps that was his attempt at suggesting the topic. "So," Alexios offered, the eagerness mounting within him. "Have you come to hunt with me? Is that it?"

He stepped back, ready to beckon the duty optio -- it was Brychanus, this morning -- to have his Phoenix saddled for him. But Cunorix was shaking his head for no.

"No, no," he said, quickly, and Alexios tried to quash the swell of disappointment. "It is in my heart that we shall, but not today. I cannot stay. I only came to pass word, as your neighbor, in case your own scouts have not roved far enough yet to see the signs: the flowers are to bloom, and the winds blow hither from the north. It will not be long now. Perhaps as soon as tomorrow."

Confused, Alexios glanced down. In a crack between two of the paving-stones, there was already a bright sprig of green life, a little thorny shoot of gorse. There were larger plants, too, at Castellum, outside the walls: other flowers had already blossomed, and some of the trees as well. But perhaps it was still barren at Ferradach Dhu's home. No, that did not make sense either; surely Cunorix would have seen the first buds beginning here as he rode in, and so he should not have been talking as if there were none yet.

"I am afraid I do not take your meaning," ventured Alexios, and it was then that Cunorix looked down at where he was looking, at the little plant among the stones.

And Cunorix started to chuckle. "Oh, that is an excellent jest!" said he. "But you know what I mean. The flowers."

"No," said Alexios, in absolute incomprehension. "I truly do not."

At that, Cunorix underwent a most curious transformation: his wide mouth drew narrow, his skin reddened, and he looked down again, so that his russet hair fell in front of his eyes. He was almost as an abashed maiden, even though Alexios would, until now, have called anyone mad who had described him thus.

When he spoke, his words were a low croak. "If you do not know, it is not a matter about which I should speak. No doubt the ways of your men are different from those of the tribes, when the winds come. I think it best that they explain to you what they do, for I do not know their customs. Yes?"

"Yes," echoed Alexios, by rote, still understanding nothing. "I will ask them."

Perhaps it was akin to a great gale, like storms of rain or snow or sand, and the fort must be prepared in some special way that the Votadini would know little of. Perhaps they needed to run rope between the buildings so the men would not lose their way, or something of that nature. But that did not explain his friend's strange reticence.

Cunorix' face cleared in visible relief. "Good. Then I will return later, after the winds have been and gone."

And with that he turned, heading out the Praetorian Gate at a rapid pace, as if he were truly in need of outrunning a storm on his way home.

Alexios stood, alone and bewildered, in the middle of the courtyard.

What had that all been about?

* * *

On the way back to the Sacellum, he passed Lucius, deep in conversation with Cullen, the two of them gesturing wildly, debating something about the storehouses that Alexios did not quite hear. When he came closer, they stopped and saluted.

"Sir." This was Cullen.

Lucius regarded him with some amount of concern. "Are you well, Ducenarius?"

Alexios waved him off. "Fine, fine. It is only that I have had the strangest conversation just now, with Cunorix; he has come and gone again." And it was then that he remembered; Cunorix had said he should ask his men. "It was the strangest thing. He said there were flowers blooming, and something about wind tomorrow, and it did not make any sense."

And now, now, it made even less sense. Lucius blanched, as if the words had been hideous to hear, as if Alexios had said instead that he would have all the men flogged and on half-pay. But for the optio, it was welcome news: Cullen's face creased in a grin, albeit one quickly suppressed when he saw Lucius' reaction.

"Oh, not again," Lucius murmured to himself, in tones of misery, and then: "Sir, if I might request a favor, I wish to elect a day of leave tomorrow. And keep to myself." This last was said with a pointed glare at Cullen, who had started smiling again.

"Of course," Alexios said, uncertainly. "If you can only explain what--"

But Lucius interrupted him. "Oh, thank you, thank you! I will hurry on," he added, not letting Alexios get a word in edgewise, "and tell the men about the winds. Tomorrow, you said?"

"Tomorrow. But--"

And before Alexios could ask again, the two of them were gone, at a fast lope, presumably to inform the men about this -- whatever it was.

Well. That had clarified absolutely nothing.

* * *

The rest of the day proceeded in much the same inexplicable fashion. The news must have proceeded about the fort at great speed, for whenever Alexios came upon a group of men, they were laughing and talking to each other in low voices, quickly silenced when they saw him. Whatever this bizarre thing was, it was clearly something they did not want to address to their commander. He would have it out of one of the officers at dinner, Alexios thought, and it would be simple enough. Sighing, he spent the rest of his day closeted in the Sacellum, writing more letters about the pay in arrears, and no one showed up to disturb him.

Dinner was worse than he could have imagined.

From the hallway outside the mess, he could hear his centenarii talking; they must have been sitting near the doorway.

"So you will, Hilarion?" came Lucius' voice, unaccountably anxious.

Hilarion's reply was a light, reassuring drawl. "Of course. The same as I did for you last year, as I said."

"Hopefully a little more timely than that, though." Lucius' voice was strident now. A complaint.

Hilarion laughed. Alexios, it seemed, could recognize Hilarion's laughter from another room away. It was a bright, infectious sound. "I will try," he said, still chuckling. "But you know I can make no promises about tomorrow."

When Alexios stepped in, he saw an unusual thing: Hilarion, rather than stretching himself lazily along one of the walls or the benches, was standing by the door with Lucius, both of them huddled together, and when they saw him they fell silent and jumped away from each other, as if it had been something secret, something furtive, that they needed to keep hidden.

"Ducenarius!" said Hilarion, briskly, actually snapping to attention. It must be a grave matter indeed, since nothing -- nothing! -- in the world could ever induce Hilarion to stand up properly. Not that he knew of. What was going on?

With difficulty, Alexios made himself smile. "Don't let me interrupt you."

"No, no." Hilarion held up his empty hands like an unarmed man. "We were done."

Alexios stared up at his senior centenarius, up and up again. It was easy to forget that Hilarion was so tall, when he spent so much time draped leisurely about the furnishings. There were men taller than he in the Wolves, of course, but his lanky frame added the appearance of even more height. Alexios suspected he could be quite intimidating with it, if he wanted. But now, now he was trying to charm. He was, as ever, good at it; Alexios felt a little more cheerful, the only improvement in his mood since the wretched day had started. He did like Hilarion.

Hilarion's mouth curved in a smile, and he motioned Alexios toward one of the benches, not quite touching him. "Sit down, sir?"

He took the offered seat, and, feeling rather obstinate, poured himself a cup of wine. He had come late to the meal and everyone else was done, or nearly so. The wine sloshed unpleasantly in his empty stomach, and he felt no better for it.

And they were still talking of the winds.

"It will be all right tomorrow, sir," Kaeso called, standing up and coming over to perch at the end of Alexios' table; unusually, he was sober. "It won't be bad at all. And if you decide you have to, you can do as Lucius does, if you like. Or Anthonius." He sighed, an exaggerated sound. "Christians, eh? No fun."

"It isn't well to do nothing." This was Druim, Druim who hardly ever said a word. Even he wanted to talk about this... this... whatever it was? "He will sicken from it, because it is the winds. It could be very ill for him, very ill indeed. Lucius and Anthonius have been lucky so far. I should not risk it, not for the commander."

Kaeso frowned. "Well, and so? I am not saying he ought to shut himself up as they do, but I doubt he wants to be among the men. Isn't that right, sir?"

"I-- I--" He had no idea what to say. "I don't know." Why wouldn't anyone tell him what was going on? Why did they all think he knew?

Then Kaeso's face brightened, and he clapped Alexios on the shoulder. "I have the perfect solution. Just leave it to me!"

This was it. This was absolutely it.

Alexios thought his mouth might be hanging open, in shock at the sheer incomprehensible effrontery. "Kaeso!"

"Sir?"

Taking a quick glance around the room, he saw that no one would meet his eyes. Not one of them. And something within him, something long-suffering, frayed, frayed and snapped. "Would someone in this room kindly tell me what in the world is going to happen tomorrow?"

The question shot forth, as a loosed arrow, a thrown spear, a challenge.

No one offered an answer.

"I thought Lucius told you," Kaeso said, hesitantly, after the room had been silent for far too long. "He said he'd asked you for the same treatment he had last year."

"He did. He did not, however, tell me what it meant."

Kaeso's mouth worked. Just behind his shoulder, Alexios saw a flash of movement: Lucius and Anthonius heading to the door, and then gone. They clearly did not want to talk about it either. Kaeso's eyes darted over to Hilarion -- or where Alexios assumed Hilarion still was -- in a mute plea.

"I do not think I can say, sir." His tongue ran about his dry lips, and he took a few steps backwards.

From somewhere behind Alexios, there came a jingling as Hilarion stood. "All right," Hilarion said, and for once there was no laughter in his face. He leveled a glare at Kaeso and Druim. "Out, out! If you couldn't explain it to the commander in public, I don't see why I should have to."

After the two of them had left, Hilarion came about the other side of the table, and sat down on the bench the way a normal man might sit, his face still terrifyingly humorless. Then he plucked the clay winecup out from between Alexios' numb hands, drank the dregs himself, shrugged, and refilled it to the brim.

This he pushed across the table again.

"Drink," he said, curtly, as if he were the superior officer here.

Alexios stared down at the dark, unwatered surface of the wine, reflecting the distorted firelight of the lamps, and then up to Hilarion's taut, pale face. "I have hardly eaten. How drunk do you want me to be?"

Hilarion shrugged. "I think it might go better."

Pointedly, he left the cup untouched.

"Commander. Sir," Hilarion began, and then something softened in his eyes. "Alexios." He took a deep breath, and it was then that Alexios saw Hilarion's hands on the table were trembling ever so finely, outlined against the dark woodgrain. "I will tell you of the flowers, and I swear, by all the gods, by all their names, by the Lady's stone, by my wolfskin, that none of this is a jest. It sounds as if it should be, but I swear it is true."

"Tell me."

Hilarion met his eyes, tried to swallow, then gave up and took a sip from Alexios' winecup. "Very well. There is a glen just to the north. In this glen, there grows a particular flower unlike any other. I'm told it's very pretty, like a little golden bell. It blooms... oh, about now." Hilarion's mouth quirked.

There was nothing strange in any of this. "Yes, and?"

"If the wind is just right, the air will be filled with its pollen, and we will breathe nothing but that for a day or so."

"Yes," Alexios agreed, more than a little annoyed. "So far you have described to me what any flower does, Hilarion. I see no reason why it should overturn the entire running of the fort tomorrow. Surely the Wolves can handle some sneezing and coughing!"

Hilarion's eyes were frighteningly somber. "I would that it only affected us thus."

"What does it do, then?"

Hilarion's gaze shifted away, and he took another sip of Alexios' wine. For a long while he did not speak. And when he did, his voice was almost too soft to hear. "When the wind comes, it-- it incites desire. To the highest possible degree. One can do nothing else. There is only lust."

He was joking. He had to be joking. Mithras. He'd sworn he wasn't joking.

"And the men, do they-- what do they do?" Even as he asked, Alexios knew he already knew the answer.

"What do you think?" said Hilarion. "Some, a few of the men, have arrangements made with women in the garrison-town. Most of us stay here until the wind dies down. With each other."

_With each other._

The words echoed about Alexios' head, around and around until they made almost no sense and too much sense, all at once. No. He couldn't do this.

"You're saying Castellum will be unguarded?"

And at that, Hilarion started laughing again, the sort of laugh that was too much for the sentence, a release of tension more than anything. He wiped a tear from his eye. "Mother of Mares, only you would ask that first! It is true, no one will be able to man their posts. However, it's not precisely a disadvantage -- anyone with evil intentions would have to be here, and then they would be exactly as affected as we will be. Everything has to wait until we're all fucked-out."

"Hilarion!" said Alexios, but the rebuke wasn't as strong as he would have liked. There was something strangely intriguing about the obscenity on Hilarion's tongue. But it was Hilarion-- and suddenly something within him shied, like a startled horse. He didn't want to think about Hilarion. Not like that. He really couldn't. Not with Hilarion.

Hilarion shrugged, and it was almost his uncaring, normal insouciance. At least there was that. "Can you think of a better word?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but he remembered the Dance of the Bull Calves and thought of an even more horrible possibility. "Is it-- will they be violent with each other?"

"No, oh, no, not in the least." Hilarion's eyes had widened, and his reply was hasty, a clumsy reassurance. "I know you are thinking of how the men can get when they have had too much drink in them, but it is not like that, I promise. It-- there is a kind of urgency in it, of course, but you feel peaceful. Gentle. At ease. I have never seen them start a fight, or force themselves on someone unwilling. I don't think you could. You wouldn't want to. I couldn't have, at any rate."

He had been describing his own experience, Alexios realized, with a pang of unease. It had happened before. It would happen again. To Hilarion. To Alexios himself. "So you have-- you have done this?" he ventured. He could feel his face growing hot, just at asking the question.

"Oh, of course."

"With-- with the men?" He was practically stammering now. Now he had to picture it, Hilarion and the others, Hilarion wrapped about some nameless soldier. Surely he was perverse, for liking the thought of it. The man was his centenarius! How did Hilarion do this? How was he himself to do this?

Hilarion nodded, as if it were simple. "The same as everyone else. Last year I woke up naked on the floor of the bath-house with--" he stopped, stared, and seemed to reconsider-- "well, it doesn't really matter what their names were, does it?"

Names? There would be more than one of them? Gods, would he have to sleep with the entire Ordo? He couldn't. They would never respect him after that. He wouldn't respect himself. How could anyone expose himself in such a manner?

"No," said Alexios, hollowly. "I suppose it doesn't."

Hilarion reached forth, as if he wanted to offer Alexios a hand, an arm, a shield-shoulder in comfort, but then checked the motion. "Mind you, it was quite an inconvenience to Lucius. Not intentionally, of course."

"Oh?"

That was whatever they had been talking about, when he had come in. It had something to do with Lucius' strange request.

"I had put him in the storeroom, as he asked. I still don't see why he couldn't have stayed in his own quarters, but he wanted to be locked in somewhere. And, well, the key had been on me when the winds started, but I didn't have a stitch of clothing by the end. Eventually I found the key with my breeks, in the Sacellum, but that took quite a while. A little longer than Lucius had wanted to spend." He pursed his lips. "Also it was a bit chilly running about the fort naked in search of my clothes. Not an experience I'd like to repeat."

Alexios hardly heard anything but the first words. "You put him in the storeroom? Alone?"

Hilarion nodded. "Him, Anthonius, and a few other men stick to their rooms. Mostly it's the Christians. It doesn't sit well with them."

"You can survive it alone?" He could-- maybe he wouldn't have to do this. He wouldn't have to embarrass himself in front of the entire Ordo.

"You can." Now Hilarion was hesitant. "But-- you shouldn't. If you are at all willing, it is better to do it. If you don't give in, it can make you ill. Druim says the Arcani say men have died who tried to resist it."

"What did Gavros do?" Perhaps it would be best to do as the previous commander had done.

Hilarion's eyes went unfocused. "He was one of those who'd made arrangements in town. Had a woman there, I understand. Saw her regularly."

"Oh." There was that possibility, eliminated.

They stared at each other for a long while, in silence. 

It would feel nice. The idle thought drifted through his head. It would make him want it. He wouldn't mind it. Hilarion certainly hadn't. _Hilarion._ Gods. He couldn't do this. He could. He could. He couldn't. Maybe with one man, he could handle it, but not with all the Wolves upon him.

"Say the word," said Hilarion, very softly, "and tomorrow I will do for you as for Lucius. I'll even put you in a storeroom if you want. I know that you do not even have your wolfskin yet; I know what we are demanding of you. And it is your life."

"I know."

Again Hilarion held forth his hand in reassurance, and this time he brushed against Alexios' wrist with two fingers, the lightest possible touch. Alexios shivered.

"Either way. Whatever you wish. It will be well. I promise."

Alexios stared miserably ahead, hardly seeing him. "I don't-- I don't know what to do."

"Think about it." Hilarion rose from the table. "You have all night."

Then he was gone.

Alexios drained the winecup and put his head in his hands.

* * *

The knocking at the door jolted Alexios unpleasantly awake; even more unpleasant was the knowledge that he still had no idea what he should do. Through the window, the skies were a clouded gray, and he sighed and kicked the blankets off the bed, shuffling across the floor in his unbelted tunic. Why hadn't the morning trumpets sounded?

When he pushed the door open, Hilarion was on the other side.

He was strangely burdened; in one hand Hilarion carried an ewer of water and the great key-ring for the storehouses, and dangling from his other arm was a satchel.

"Not yet," said Hilarion, in answer to the question Alexios hadn't brought himself to ask. "But it won't be long now. I just locked Lucius up--" he jingled the keys-- "and if you'll let me in, I brought you a few things."

"Kind of you."

He stepped back, and Hilarion, grinning in reply, came inside, pulled the door shut behind him, and went immediately to the little desk in the corner to deposit the things. The water-jug landed heavily on the desk, and, as Alexios watched, everything that Hilarion pulled out of the satchel was food as well: a loaf of bread and oil, dried meat, barley bannock.

"Everyone's off eating as much as they can before the winds come," Hilarion said, sounding almost cheerful again. This, Alexios realized, probably included the trumpeters. "You'll-- they'll want to keep their strength up, and cookfires later are a very bad idea, what with the distraction. So everything they want has to be eaten now, or at least made now. I thought you might not have been aware."

"I wasn't. Again, it was very kind of you."

"What, you think I'm rotten all the time?" It must have been a joke, because Hilarion continued on, just as light-hearted. "You'll need it whether you're staying or not. I plan to enjoy the company of the Wolves, myself."

Even in the cold, Alexios could feel his face burn. "Have a good time," he said, or tried to say, as lightly as he could. He was not sure that he succeeded.

"Perhaps I'll see you there, eh?" Though Hilarion was his ordinary smiling self, his gaze was suddenly searching, intent, trying to divine something in particular, though what it was, Alexios could not say. Then, just as suddenly, his eyes were pale and distant. "Or perhaps not. Sir."

Something turned, uneasily, in Alexios' gut. Hilarion. Gods. He could handle anyone else. As long as it wasn't Hilarion.

He cared about Hilarion.

He didn't want Hilarion to see him like this.

He _cared_ about Hilarion.

Hilarion would know how he felt, what he wanted. He would be able to hold nothing back. His desire, on display for his friend to see, in every lurid and lewd detail. And if Hilarion did not truly want that from him -- well, it would be awful, for them to face each other the next day.

The realization startled a bitter laugh out of him, and Hilarion turned, surprised. "Will you be all right, sir?"

"Certainly I will," Alexios said. He wasn't. "Go on, then. Join the Wolves. Enjoy yourself." _It is safer than being with me._

"Thank you," Hilarion said. He turned to leave, pushing the door open--

It wouldn't budge.

Hilarion swore and tried again. He leaned his full weight on it. Nothing shifted. He swore again.

"It seems," he said, very, very quietly, "that someone has barred the door on the other side. There's a chest or two, maybe. Something heavy. I can't move it. I'm sorry. I didn't think any of them would really--"

"Would really _what_?" Alexios was proud, distantly so, that there was no high note of fear in his voice. They were trapped here. Together.

Hilarion's chest heaved as he took a deep breath. "There had been some talk, yesterday, that it might be more respectful to you if-- if-- if you were only with one of us. I swear, I didn't know they were going to do this." Hilarion's unflappable calm was beginning to wither, rapidly, and he stared back at Alexios with nearly the same trepidation in his eyes that Alexios himself felt, that must even now have been visible on his face.

"The men have locked us in."

"Exactly so."

At that moment, the wind gusted. Hilarion's eyes snapped automatically to the little high window, as quickly as if a cohort of archers had been outside it. Perhaps even more quickly. Alexios could imagine the pollen drifting in, borne by the winds, even now floating into his lungs.

Hilarion's mouth twitched. "Can't hold your breath forever," he said, and that was when Alexios realized he had been trying to.

"Is it time now?"

To Alexios' horror, Hilarion took a deep breath himself, in and out and in. "Yes," he said, and the words were very slow to come, both like and unlike his usual lazy drawl. "Oh. Yes. Definitely the flowers." There was a low note to Hilarion's voice that Alexios had never heard before. Desire, he realized, with a shudder, and wondered how he was going to tell when the plants had worked their magic on him if he already felt this way.

His legs shaking, Alexios took a seat on the little chair. "Go on then," he said. "Sit down. Take the bed. I'm sure you want to."

Because Hilarion was in fact the sort of man who draped himself over all available surfaces, Alexios suspected he'd been waiting for the invitation. Hilarion had somehow sprawled to fill the entire bed, burrowing his face against Alexios' pillow, and he was smiling. It was an astonishingly intimate thing.

"Nice," Hilarion said, happily, and his voice was barely above a whisper. While other men's voices might go dark in lust, Hilarion was in this as in everything else not as other men: he only sounded brighter. Happier. "Smells like you." 

Was Hilarion trying to kill him?

Belatedly, Hilarion's eyes widened. "The flowers," he said, apologetically. "They make it hard to keep one's thoughts to oneself." Hilarion's eyes, Alexios noted, were now far darker than they should be in the daylight, as if this were blackest night itself. "I am sorry."

"You blame this on the _flowers_?" he said, for surely even Hilarion had to know he had never been very discreet about anything, and Hilarion started laughing at him again.

"Point taken. But it will be easier if you ask no questions you do not want answered true. And I will do the same, sir." Hilarion's breath rattled in his chest, audible in the silence. Perhaps they could do this, after all.

"Alexios," he corrected gently. "You're in my bed, Hilarion. I have a name."

"Alexios, then," said Hilarion, grinning, and that was when the pollen hit him.

It felt at first as if everything was too much: sounds too loud, light too bright, the itch of wool agonizing against his skin. Then he took one more breath, two, and everything settled into a kind of calm, though the brightness remained unchanged. He was happy, he realized, stunned, and the warm pleasant happiness gathered within him, pounded within his blood, hotter and hotter, and he wanted, already he wanted so much--

Hilarion had propped himself up on one elbow and was regarding him silently, eyes half-lidded, a little smile curling across his face. That very look only kindled the fire within him, and he groaned.

"Ah," said Hilarion, softly, "there you go."

"Hilarion." The voice that came out of him was already broken by lust. Even as he struggled for control, he knew there was no mastering this. "Please-- I can't-- don't make me say it-- I'm going to--"

And Hilarion stretched out his hand. "It is well, Alexios," he said, and his voice was full of gentleness. "We do what it makes us do. We do what we must."

_I wanted this before_ , he did not say, and on still-shaking legs he stepped forward, closer, closer, until he was within Hilarion's reach, now perched on the bed next to him. Hilarion's hand brushed his fingertips for an instant, then dropped away.

"It will also be easier," said Hilarion, with a crisp intensity now in his voice, "if we just... mmm... take care of you first. The first time. Takes the edge off the need, for now."

He was wanton, so needy; he could feel himself grow harder in response. So hard. Immortal gods! He could probably come without anyone touching him, just thinking of Hilarion touching him. Thinking of Hilarion thinking of it. He could contemplate nothing else, nothing in the world. This was going to be embarrassingly fast. Hilarion was never going to consider him again in the same way; it was certain he himself would never forget this.

"I'm-- I'm awfully close," he said, still half-ashamed of what this was doing to him; Hilarion was still holding his hand out, tentatively, waiting for permission.

"I know," said Hilarion, unconcerned.

"No, I mean--" Alexios floundered for words. "It will be over the instant you touch me."

Hilarion bared his teeth, and in his eyes Alexios saw an answering agonized lust. "Alexios. Believe me when I say I know _exactly_ how you feel. Now -- let me?"

Alexios nodded, and Hilarion gave him another tense smile and slid one warm hand up under the edge of Alexios' tunic. His palm lay flat on Alexios' thigh, in a reassuring caress, and then all at once his fingers were curled about Alexios' erection. Alexios half-groaned, half-sobbed in relief and arched his hips up, finally, finally. He didn't want to resist it. He couldn't resist it. 

Next to him Hilarion was trembling, Hilarion had moaned in response. "Let yourself go," he whispered, and his hand slid up Alexios in a heavy, perfect grip. "I've got you." And then Alexios was spending himself already into Hilarion's palm, across his own stomach, his tunic, shaking with release.

But Hilarion's hand did not leave him, and he was still hard. Gods. _The first time_ , Hilarion had said. There would be others.

"Hilarion?" he said, uncertain. "I'm still--"

A frustrated laugh. "What do you think the flowers _do_? It wouldn't be as much of a problem if we were only able to get it up once."

"Oh."

"It is a bit better now, is it not?" Hilarion's voice was still breathy.

Hilarion was right, the need was less pressing. He was filled with a great peace, even more vast than the usual lassitude. He could stay here forever, with Hilarion, Hilarion who was even now twisting impatiently in the sheets. They should do something about him first. Everything else could wait until after that.

Ignoring how sticky he was, Alexios turned and began undoing Hilarion's belt. "Your turn?"

Under the heavy wool of the breeks, Hilarion seemed to be quite aroused. And also quite well-endowed. Alexios' cock throbbed. He swallowed and tried to put the thoughts out of his mind; he must be patient. There would be more time for him later. If Hilarion even wanted... anything he wanted. No, he must not mention that. They could have hands. Hands were safe. Not anything else. Even with the wind relaxing all inhibitions, you could not just tell your centenarius you wanted him in you as hard and deep as he could go, any way he liked it. Or you in him. It was not the sort of thing you could ignore afterwards, not and have your friendship be as it had been.

"You don't have to," said Hilarion, and this was patently a lie.

"Someone has to," he pointed out. "I'm here. And I want to." He hadn't quite meant to say that.

"Oh, well, if you want to." Hilarion stretched across the entire bed, offering himself up, his head tilted back, a broad grin on his face. "That's different. By all means."

He could not bear to say anything more, so he picked one-handed at the fastening of Hilarion's breeks until finally they came loose, and Hilarion groaned as Alexios took him in hand.

"Ah, yes, Alexios," Hilarion whispered. "So good." 

And it was ridiculous for Hilarion to praise him so when he had hardly done anything, but even so, knowing that Hilarion liked it, that it was Alexios doing this to him -- he found that, without thinking, his free hand had dropped to his own lap, curving about his cock, achingly hard again. No. He could not do this. This was for Hilarion. He dragged his hand off himself. The drugged winds made it so easy to give in to the merest impulse, and, well, he could not deny that he was enjoying Hilarion's pleasure.

He returned his attention to Hilarion. With a few easy, slick strokes, Hilarion was writhing, moaning, head thrown back, eyes shut, shaking, balanced on the edge-- about to--

Somehow he was touching himself again. Annoyed, he stared down at himself, and forced his hand to slow down. He knew the wind wasn't making him want this, and that was almost worse than if it had been. Damn him, but he liked this. He shouldn't. This was a fantasy that he could only taste, just now, and never again. He should keep himself out of it. Not get involved. Not put anything real out there, anything of himself. 

He should at least try to stop. But he couldn't. The curse of the flowers: they made him determined to do what he wanted very most.

"Always nice to know you're interested," came Hilarion's lazy voice, and when Alexios turned to look Hilarion had his eyes open, face half-pressed against the pillow, staring fixedly at the movement of Alexios' hand on himself. One of his hands drifted up to where Alexios' other hand had stopped moving, and he wrapped his long fingers about Alexios' fist, as they stroked him slowly together.

Alexios shook his head. "I can't be." Didn't Hilarion see that?

"You can," Hilarion said. "I -- mmm -- I told you. It's all right. Keep going."

And he should have stopped, he should have done something dignified, he should never have done this. But Hilarion had said it would be well. Hilarion wanted him to do this.

"You like it, eh?" Hilarion murmured, and Hilarion's hand tightened over his, urging him on faster. Hilarion's tongue flicked out, swiped across his lips, watching him. Watching everything.

Alexios whimpered.

"My mouth, is that it?" The words were a rasp of need, and Hilarion's hand moved even faster, finding his own ideas arousing. "You want it? I'll suck you off, I promise. I'm good at it. I'll do anything you want--"

He couldn't hold back. Crying out, he came again, dimly aware that next to him Hilarion was thrusting raggedly into his hands, their hands, spending himself, shaking and shaking.

"I'm sorry," he said, knowing he had debased himself, debased Hilarion, just by the wanting, by his awful, animal need. "I am."

One boneless arm flopped out to embrace him, an awkward hug. "Don't be," Hilarion said, and, oh, he was beautiful like this, full of nothing but pleasure. Alexios wished that he, too, could care nothing for consequences. "Here, let's clean you up and get some food in you before it comes on again."

* * *

So it was that they split the bread and water, in one of the stranger meals of Alexios' life. Hilarion had not even bothered to tie his breeks shut again. And Alexios... found he could not look at him.

"Thank you for the breakfast," he mumbled.

Hilarion, reaching for the oil to dip the bread in, caught his hand. His fingers were warm and, for all the sword-calluses, oddly soft. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

Hilarion raised an eyebrow and leaned back, not quite managing a sprawl in the other chair. "It is all right to like it. I would be worried if you didn't. I know it is not what you wanted, in the ordinary way of things, but we are all together in this. We will manage."

Hilarion didn't understand. How could he? After Germania, Alexios had worked so hard not to let his feelings, his awful feelings, show. He had to be in command, in control, and that included control of himself. The ability to make the right choice. A thing these flowers had taken away.

"I am in command. A commander cannot just do what he wants. It reflects... badly."

Half of Hilarion's mouth lifted in a lopsided smile. "You think I will tell the men, oh, I fucked the commander, but don't worry, he was perfectly proper? He didn't enjoy it one bit? You think they will laud you for your restraint?"

Alexios flinched, as much at the mention of the act itself as the idea that Hilarion would speak of it to others.

"One," said Hilarion, "I am not telling anyone else a thing about what we have done or will do. I am not as much of a gossip as that."

"And two?" But still, if Hilarion knew that he wanted this--

"Two," he said, with a grin, "you can do what you want. That's how it works. I want you to."

"But, the flowers--"

"Do you think that matters? Even if there were none I would--" And Hilarion stopped, sharply. "Damned flowers. Sorry. Forget I said anything. Please."

Hilarion hadn't wanted him to know either. It was the same thing. Hilarion wanted this. Him. That changed everything.

Alexios took a deep breath. "What if I would rather remember?"

For once, Hilarion was speechless.

He had begun. He had to say the whole thing now. "I wanted this before. But I would not have had it this way, with all my desires torn from me, unwilling. Now do you see?"

For a long while Hilarion stared at him, face pale, eyes drugged-dark. He finally managed a reply. "I cannot give you that," he said, slowly. "No one can. Not with the flowers. And it is not happening as I would have liked, either. But if this is what you wanted -- if I am who you wanted -- then I can give you myself, and the promise that I will not judge you for that which is in your heart." It was an effort, Alexios could tell, for him to say all this, with the winds gusting again outside. 

"Truly?"

Hilarion nodded. "You have to give in. You have to fall. But I will catch you."

* * *

Even through the dreamlike haze of the pollen, the kiss was urgent, desperate: Hilarion held him close, his long fingers splayed across his jaw, his throat, the back of his neck, pressing the two of them together. He kissed fiercely, intently, his tongue licking into Alexios' mouth, exactly right, exactly as he liked it, messy and rough. When Hilarion finally lifted his head, they were both panting.

"You are," Alexios breathed, "very good at that."

Hilarion's eyes gleamed. "Wait until you see what else I can do with my mouth."

"Oh?" Alexios feigned nonchalance, even as the offer sent a spark of arousal through him. "I didn't think you'd go for that sort of thing, to be honest."

Hilarion bit his ear very lightly, and he shivered. "Why not?"

"Well," Alexios said, grinning, "you can't talk with your mouth full."

That was when Hilarion pushed him down to the bed.

True, Hilarion said very little at the time. But, Alexios reflected, it was worth it.

* * *

Afterward, they lay together in a companionable tangle, half-buried under the striped blankets. Hilarion had been quite as good as he promised -- and Alexios in return had been just as eager if perhaps less skilled, though Hilarion had not seemed to mind -- but the flowers were not done with either of them. It was an easy, calm sort of feeling, like a pleasant afternoon at some lakeside, a day where you wanted to do nothing but let your senses drink it in, but at the same time there was still that need, again growing -- Hilarion was rubbing himself up against Alexios' hip, slow and out of rhythm, absently enough that Alexios wondered if he even knew he was doing it. 

"More?" asked Hilarion, lazily. "You can fuck me, if you like. Or I can fuck you."

Alexios stretched. "Which would you prefer?" 

For it would, of course, be easiest to do what Hilarion wanted, to try not to give himself over completely. But Hilarion seemed to know this, for he arched an eyebrow. "Your turn to pick. I am quite amenable."

"Me, then," he said, and nearly covered his mouth with his hand after he'd said it, as if that would have prevented Hilarion from hearing the longing in it.

"Excellent choice," said Hilarion, kissing him thoroughly and then getting up to see if there was any oil left over from breakfast. "Of course, I cannot complain; they are all excellent choices."

It seemed slightly less excellent when they got down to it, and Alexios was lying face-down in the pillows with his eyes squeezed shut, his hands knotted into the blankets, trying to remember how he'd ever relaxed enough to do this before.

The patient movement of Hilarion's hands across his back to his thighs slowed but did not quite cease entirely. "You do not have to offer up yourself as a sacrifice," Hilarion observed. "It's not that kind of festival."

Sacrifice. It was an apt comparison, like a thing burnt away in the temple fires. He could not relax, not and hold onto the part of him that had any dignity left. "Hardly that," Alexios said, through gritted teeth. 

"Breathe, then," Hilarion said, and leaned down to kiss the back of Alexios' neck.

He could not help responding to the sensation, groaning and arching, and then Hilarion had two fingers in him, as easily as anything, and he could think of nothing else but having more, more of that, greedy and never sated. He was saying something; he had no idea what he was saying.

Hilarion's free hand smoothed over his side. "I have you, I have you," he was saying, over and over. "Move with me."

"Can't," Alexios said, with the last scrap of reason. "I have to be-- I have to stay--"

Hilarion's fingers slid in and out of him, agonizingly slowly. "It's only me. Alexios. Trust me."

He would have to fall. Hilarion had promised. Alexios lifted his head. "Catch me?"

Hilarion grinned. "I've already got you," he said, and Alexios knew then that that had been true all along.

He could hardly have said what was happening, beyond the feeling of it; he was dimly aware of Hilarion pulling him back by his hips, sliding his fingers out, settling him back upright, practically in his lap and -- oh -- pushing into him. Alexios breathed in and out slowly. Hilarion had one freckled arm across his chest, holding him comfortably in place. He was not trapped. Only held.

"Oh," Hilarion breathed into his ear, managing a kiss to his jaw. "You're-- you're--"

He knew what words men said at these times. Hot. Tight. Any of a variety of similar compliments. "I'm what?"

"Beautiful." Hilarion lifted a hand to trace Alexios' face, and nothing now kept Alexios from smiling, smiling for sheer joy, and that was when Hilarion started to move within him.

It was easy now, to do what he wanted, to move with Hilarion just as he liked, caring about his pleasure, knowing that he was safe now to just _be_. In strength they were evenly matched, but he let Hilarion move him anyway, let him rock them apart and together again, twisting his head back to kiss Hilarion as he could manage.

It did not take long at all before the pace had sped up, before Hilarion's hands had tightened about him.

"Can I?" Hilarion asked, and the words were half a groan, inarticulate desire.

"Please."

And then Hilarion was thrusting up into him, one last desperate time, and as he did Alexios reached for his hand and slid them low to his lap, where he could almost-- almost-- and Hilarion's hand wrapped about him and he closed his eyes and gave himself over to everything.

* * *

"Proper enough for you?" asked Hilarion, lightly. They had collapsed back to the bed, and tremors still ran through him where they were pressed together. 

Alexios laughed. "I think that is the wrong question. Improper, perhaps, but a very good thing."

"Now you begin to see," said Hilarion, and kissed him again.

* * *

The next morning he was sore enough that he could not sit down easily. Hilarion's throat sported a collection of little bitten bruises -- the same as would have been visible on him had he been light enough for it. The rest of the Wolves, however, were in much the same state, as Alexios saw over breakfast, so he could not bring himself to feel too bad about the obvious signs of passion.

"Sirs!" Kaeso said, cheerfully, waving them over as they entered together. "I hope it went well for the commander."

His smile was a little too broad, and suddenly Alexios knew exactly who had moved that chest to block the door. And who had come and slid it away this morning, before the trumpets sounded. He smiled in return and decided not to address it.

Alexios took a seat, as gingerly as he could, and was surprised when Hilarion sat next to him, upright, like a normal man. And then Hilarion reached for his hand under the table.

"Fine, thank you," Alexios said, curtly.

Hilarion squeezed his fingers. They were fooling no one. Alexios didn't care.

"And Hilarion?" pressed Kaeso. "I did not see you at all yesterday. You have missed the best parts, have you not?"

Mischief sparkled in Hilarion's pale eyes. "I have discovered better ones."

Hilarion draped himself across Alexios' side, leaning up against him, and Alexios realized he couldn't stop smiling.

"When do the flowers come back?"

"Next year, sir," Hilarion said, brightly, and then in a whisper pitched only for him: "But I can come back tonight."

And that would suit them well.


End file.
